Tragedy of Errors
by Dragonaia
Summary: Two practiced Craftusers, and one nearly rabid LoK fan find themselves accidentally teleported into the world of Nosgoth at the twilight of the rule of the original Saraphan, and embark on a quest to find out just what the hell went wrong!
1. Chapter 1: The Delicate Art of Telepo

**Post-Defiance Fan Fiction: Tragedy of Errors**

**By: Dragonaia**

**Summary:** Two practiced Craft-users, and one nearly rabid LoK fan find themselves accidentally teleported into the world of Nosgoth as the twilight of the rule of the original Saraphan, and embark on a quest to find out just what the hell went wrong!

**Disclaimer: **The Legacy of Kain games belong to Eidos, not to me, much though I may wish it. The OOC involved in this fiction belong to me however, Milo, Jackie, Becca, and the few secondary others. My retribution will be swift and horrifying.

**Author's Comments: **This is an SI, kind of. One of the reasons I wrote it was because I'd read other fanfics where people 'magically' and spontaneously appeared in the Nosgoth universe with no idea how they got there. These characters do, and they have to figure out how to fix it. The three main characters survive for very good reasons. The character that most greatly resembles me is Jackie, although I hope I never become nearly that arrogant. My family would probably kill me first. In general though, all three members of the trio possess a bit of my personality, so nobody insult them too badly… please?

**Chapter 1: The Delicate Art of Teleportation**

"I can't believe you're doing this again Milo," the young woman said, shaking her head hopelessly. "How many times are you going to screw up before you get it through that thick skull of yours that you suck the big one at teleportation spells?"

"Shut up Jackie," the sixteen-year-old snapped at his older sister. "You're not making this any easier." He feverishly adjusted the spell circle inscribed into the floor, running his fingers up and down the pages of the moth-eaten tome as he struggled to make the correct alterations with the small piece of pink chalk in his hand.

"Not making it any easier?" she scoffed angrily, stepping into the cavernous stone room. The walls were featureless slabs of two-foot thick cement, lined with shelves full of books and spell components. "You wouldn't get anywhere if it weren't for me. Mum and Dad will have my head if I let you do this without any guidance. You're making me miss my martial arts class I'll have you know!"

"Then go," Milo retorted with equal venom. "I don't need your help. The Hema family's special prodigy doesn't need to hold my hand through _every_ piece of spell-work I've ever done and will ever do." He watched in grim satisfaction from the corner of his eye as his sister's shoulders stiffened in barely suppressed rage. Usually when he called her that she ended up hitting him, and she was not the type of person to do anything by halves.

"I'm not the one who teleported myself to Japan last month and had to get my parents to wire me money for a plane ticket home because I accidentally left the spell-book behind," she spat out vindictively. Her dark brown eyes narrowed hostilely and the look she gave him would have set a stack of newspapers on fire given the right amount of concentration. "I'm already in a sufficient amount of trouble for letting you practice without me last week. The neighbours were suspicious enough before you turned every living thing in their back yard glowing neon orange, including the damn Chihuahua! It took dad four hours and some bull-shit story about an exploded can of spray-paint to convince them not to call the cops on us. At the rate you're going, we may have to move again by the end of the year. I'm eighteen and I've already lost three years to having to repeat the term over again because we were forced to move in the middle of a semester. At this rate, I won't graduate high-school until I'm twenty-five! You know what, screw this and screw you! I'm going to my class. Have fun blowing yourself up." She reached into her worn duffle-bag and pulled out a hair-elastic, viciously drawing her curly hair up into a severe ponytail as she stamped upstairs towards the door.

Milo listened in satisfaction as she slammed the door furiously behind her. He was just about to get back to work when he was startled by the sound of the door being thrown back open and crashing shut again. The heavy footfalls pounded their way to his sister's room, and then back towards the front door, pausing at the entrance to the basement where he was working. He was surprised when Jackie reappeared in the archway.

"By the way," she said haughtily, "You're doing that wrong."

Milo burst into raucous laughter. "You really can't help yourself can you?"

Jackie scowled at him. "Fine. I hope you enjoy your trip to Siberia. Dress warmly. I hear it's pretty nippy this time of year." When Milo continued to laugh she added. "I'm not kidding. That mistake is going to end you up somewhere in Russia, maybe even Northern China."

Milo finally stopped laughing. "What do you mean? Which mistake?" He looked at his spell circle, for the first time apprehensive.

"Oh no," Jackie smiled cynically, "You don't want my help, remember? You'd rather just mouth off. I'm going to be late if I don't leave now. Don't worry; I'll be there to laugh at your dumb ass when your flight gets in. Be sure to bring a Russian phrasebook with you. I'm going to enjoy the next few days without these damn annoying distractions."

"Wait," Milo called up as she began to ascend the stairs again. "What's the mistake?"

"I'll tell you when I get home," she answered smugly. "I have to get to class. A friend of mine lent me her game and I promised I'd return it today. She's addicted to it, and she'll go into severe fantasy withdrawal if I don't. I've forgotten it twice already, and I almost forgot to bring it again." She demonstrated by waving the plastic case of a PS2 game at him.

"You have normal friends?" Milo snorted in disbelief. He flourished a practiced hand in the air and said a word of power. The game slipped from Jackie's startled fingers and flew telekinetically into his waiting palm. "I didn't think you associated with anyone outside the Community."

"High-school is kind of awkward if you don't talk to anybody Milo," Jackie responded severely, "And I'm just as anti-social with Craft-users too, as you so love to point out. I guess it comes from being a 'prodigy'. Now give that back."

"Oh, get off your soapbox." He studied the Playstation game in his hand critically. "'_Legacy of Kain: Soul Reaver 2'_. Did you actually play this?"

"Of course I did! What's the point in owning the machine if I never use it? I even played a few of the games that came before it too. Jessica was always going on about it. I figured I better find out what the heck she was talking about all the time. She was right. The plot is insanely complicated, but I already had a pretty good idea what was going on because of her long-winded lectures. I mean, I'm not crazy-obsessed about it the way she is, but I liked it enough to look into getting my own copy. She's going to lend me the next game tonight, and I'm rather anxious to get to the conclusion. So if you'll give that back, I'll be off on my merry way now." Jackie reached forward to take the game from him, but Milo quickly jumped out of arm's reach.

"Oh no, you don't!" he said, holding up the piece of chalk. "You're already late for your class by now. Now show me what I did wrong. I'm not giving the game back until you do."

His older sister looked at him evenly and cracked her knuckles. "You're sure about that?"

"Dad will blow his top if we get in a fight and trash the house again." Milo informed her warningly.

"True…." Jackie seemed to consider the matter. Milo tried to look confident. He was under no illusions as to who would win in a fight amongst the two of them. Between being a magical genius and taking martial arts lessons, she outclassed him in both areas of combat, and he was only a skinny sixteen year-old boy who hadn't grown into his long, lanky frame yet. He could still wreak a vast amount of destruction on the house before it was over though.

Jackie finally heaved a titanic sigh and snatched the chalk from him. "All right. You win. But I'm doing this under protest." She stepped forward and studied the circle by her feet. "Milo, which way is north?"

He checked the tiny electronic compass built into his watch. "I have the circle aligned properly. What are you talking about?"

"No you don't," she pointed to a different wall. "That's north." Then she noticed his puzzled glances at his watch and quickly smothered a giggle. "Damn, I'd almost forgotten about that."

"Forgotten about what?" Milo was beginning to loose his temper.

"Remember a couple winters back when we did that scavenger hunt in the snow with the younger cousins for Christmas? You took the boys and I took the girls," she explained with a mischievous grin. Milo nodded. "Well I hexed your watch so you'd get lost. It worked out pretty well too. You guys were wandering in the back woods behind Grandma's house for almost half an hour after we'd already finished."

"You-" Milo glared at his sister furiously, but she cut him off.

"I would have gotten caught too, except you just couldn't help using your pendant for help with the searching. The adults figured all the magic was coming from you and I got off free. Thought I didn't know didn't you?" She snickered evilly.

Milo spluttered futilely. She was right of course, just as she always was. He hated her more than ever for it.

"Oh quit angsting." Jackie rolled her eyes when she saw his expression. "I'll fix it now." She unclasped the watch from his wrist, and impatiently pressed her thumb against the back of it, muttering a string of words unintelligibly under her breath. "There. It's working. Now correct the circle."

Glowering at his sister balefully, Milo readjusted the circle according to its new reading by simply passing his hand over it. The chalk symbols lifted off of the slab of stone upon which they were sketched and rotated to fit the corrected alignment. He watched stiffly as Jackie peered at it intently, tilting her head left and right.

"I give up," she finally said, "Where were planning on going?"

"Aunt Mary's." he shrugged. "Where else? It's the only place nearby where people won't freak out if I pop up unexpectedly, and I can walk home from if I can't figure out how to get back. I think Dad's tired of buying me plane tickets to be honest," he added wryly.

"But that's only three blocks away."

"So?"

But Jackie ignored his comment. He realized that she'd been thinking out loud. She had a nasty habit of doing that.

"Well," she said at long last, "What I think you did qualifies as a typo, rather than a mistake per se. You put these five symbols in the wrong place." She pointed them out and they ghosted to their appropriate positions, each one appearing in a position to the left of its original place. "Although I would recommend doing this," she indicated and held out the chalk. Her hand fisted and ground the chalk into fine pink dust, which drifted the floor and formed a small pattern of glyphs encircling the outer ring of Milo's calculations.

"What's that for?" He asked, flipping through the open book on a nearby desk. "I don't see anything like that mentioned in here."

"It's a stabilizing equation," Jackie instructed him patiently. "It can be used for practically any spell, but I especially like to use them for trans-dimensional work like teleportation. If you mess up, it keeps you in one piece. I never risk not using one. After Dad accidentally teleported into the pond outside Grandma's house I finally convinced him to start using it too."

"Dad really did that?" Milo allowed his mouth to quirk into a smile despite his sister's bossy attitude.

"Nobody's perfect." Jackie shrugged. "Not even prodigies. Now can I have my game and go now?" She opened her hand expectantly.

"No way," Milo shook his head. "You're coming with me. I want to make sure I don't end up in Siberia."

"What do you take me for?" Jackie gave him an aggravated sigh.

"My evil-genius of a sister," Milo responded smoothly. "Now get in the circle with me. It's just as far a walk from Aunt Mary's as it is from here."

Jackie quickly realized that no amount of fighting or cajoling was going to sway her brother's opinion, so it was with ill-grace that she finally tramped into the center of the circle, though she was careful to avoid the markings. "Satisfied?" she snapped.

"Very," her brother answered. It was his turn to be smug. He picked up the small bowl of water, the vial of specially-formulated oil and the spell-book, placing them in the exact middle of his spell-work. "Ready?" he asked Jackie. He allowed a few droplets of the oil to drip onto the surface of the water. It floated there in a multihued spiral of rippling colour.

"That's weird," she said after a few moments consideration. "The water isn't even. Either the floor isn't level, or the bowl isn't. In either case, we aren't going anywhere until it is." She made as if to step out of the circle.

"You aren't going anywhere," Milo said, catching his sister by the pant-leg and pulling her back. "You're not getting out of this that easily."

"I'm serious about the water Milo. The surface needs to be even. Otherwise the energy flow will be off balance. I never lie when it comes to spell-work. It's just too dangerous."

"I know that," Milo responded. "Just hold on a second. I'm fixing it." He pried open the case of the PS2 game and popped out the disc. Putting the empty case in his toughened jean-jacket pocket, he slid the disc between the ceramic bowl and the cement floor.

"Milo!" Jackie protested. "That isn't mine!"

"Don't worry about it," Milo said, standing up and dusting off his knees. "I only got a few drops of water on it. It'll be fine."

"You idiot," Jackie tried to bend down to remove the disc, but her brother blocked her attempts. She was still careful not to touch the chalked-in symbols. "This is a spell! You just can't improvise when you're dealing with volatile things like magic and the fabric of the universe!"

"You're way too high-strung about this stuff you know that?" Milo admonished her airily. He lifted his hands in the air and from his mouth spilled forth a string of words of power. The glyphs flickered to glowing life. The chant took only a short time to complete, and when he was finished he looked around him. "Well, the glyphs are charged, but nothing seems to be happening."

"I don't know," Jackie said apprehensively. "I've got a really bad feeling about this."

"I'm sure you do," Milo replied bad-temperedly. "You stay here and figure out what went wrong, and I'll go upstairs and try to dig out a few more books." He moved to step out of the circle.

"No," Jackie called, but Milo ignored her. She just barely managed to catch his sleeve in time as his hand passed outside the perimeter of the stabilizing equation she'd set down.

Milo howled as the skin on the surface of his hand was instantly burned. "What the hell!" Jackie pulled him back by his arm into the middle of the circle.

"That would have happened to your entire body if I hadn't set the stabilizer." she  
told him gently. Her voice was quiet and had lost the arrogance with which she typically spoke. "Actually, it would have happened to both of us. Why don't you ever listen to me?"

"What the hell just happened?" he asked her helplessly, cradling his hand to his chest. The pain was excruciating.

"The spell is still in progress," Jackie said, watching the glyphs carefully. "It's just charging before it takes effect."

"That's never happened before."

"I know."

"What's going to happen now?" He looked to his elder sister helplessly.

"I have no idea."

His entire life he'd waited to hear those words. Now he wished to god he hadn't.

Wrapping her arms around him protectively in a way she hadn't for years, Jackie tightened her grip around his shoulders and said, "Brace for it."

"Brace for what?" he asked.

The answer was interrupted by a blinding flash of white light and the sense of displacement caused by the teleportation spell seized them both in its steely grip. In an instant they were gone, and the square cement room was empty, save for the lingering scent of burned flesh.

**(I'll be writing this one a little slower than my other one, so it may take a week or two to get the next chapter up. I humbly request your patience. No killee the Sa-chan!)**


	2. Chapter 2: The Stronghold

**By Dragonaia**

**Disclaimer: **The Legacy of Kain games belong to Eidos, not to me, much though I may wish it. The OOC involved in this fiction belong to me however, Milo, Jackie, Becca, and the few secondary others. My retribution will be swift and horrifying.

**Author's Comments: **Next chapter is up. This chapter is mostly about Milo (as he's the only one conscious), and introduces the infamous priests of the Saraphan Brotherhood. I remind the audience that while they know where and when Milo is, he has never played the games and has no idea himself. I tried to give a rough approximation of the personalities of the Saraphan priests. We all know they were bastards (imagine killing poor Janos!), but chances are they'd be a little gentler on a fellow human, compared to the brutality they would show a vampire. It would be hypocritical otherwise. I wasn't sure, so I guessed. Don't tell me if you don't like it. I don't want to know. Another important point, Melchiah, the youngest brother, has just started his career; so we can only assume it will be several years before the attack on Janos Audron's sanctuary.

**

* * *

****Chapter 2: The Stronghold**

They held their breath, waiting for the whirlwind of magical energy to set them down, praying that they would arrive intact.

Jackie knew instinctively that they were accelerating too quickly. Milo's spell had gone horribly wrong this time. Just as she felt the displacement begin to lift, she threw her arms around her sibling's head, offering him the little protection she could give for what she knew would eventually happen. She accepted that it would leave her wide open without hesitation.

The blackness began to dissipate and the world finally rose up into view beneath them, but the ground was in the wrong direction. At the last moment Jackie twisted in the air, preparing to take on the full force of the blow.

Both siblings struck the polished marble floor with a sickening crack, thick bands of hot energy raining down in concentric rings around them. Steam hissed and rose up in clouds around their still forms.

Milo sat up gingerly, favouring several fresh bruises. In addition to his burnt hand, the whole left side of his body ached like it was fashioned from one giant bruise, with the exception of his head where Jackie's arms had shielded him. The spell glyphs had burned themselves right into the floor, even slicing off the edge of a basin from a nearby water fountain. The water pouring out of the crack was half-evaporated from the spell's lingering heat by the time it reached far enough to soak into his pant leg. Beside his knee the ceramic bowl and game disc he'd used to prop it up were shattered, the black plastic of the disc melting into the white stone beneath him in a spreading tar-like stain. The spell-book lay serenely on the hissing marble, the centuries of protective enchantments shielding it from damage. He looked around frantically, studying his new surroundings. High-vaulted stone walls were studded with panes of stained-glass that depicted angelic warriors wielding glowing weapons and casting down demons with blue skin, black-feathered wings, and three-taloned fingers. Banners trailed down the walls, each one embroidered with a large green eye set inside a triangle and another triad of smaller eyes on a field of red and gold. The few rows of cushioned pews led him to believe that perhaps it was an extravagant private chapel in some remote European castle, though he couldn't fathom where the strange 'eye' symbolism was derived from. It was certainly like nothing he'd seen before.

Milo yelped and jumped in surprise when a chunk of charred masonry landed with a splash behind him. His gaze immediately centered on the debris' source, high in the cavernous ceiling above his head, a perfectly symmetrical circle cookie-cuttered from the roof.

"Oh shit," he chuckled weakly, still a little light-headed from shock and using up so much of his magic reserves at once. "Jackie, wake up. You've got to see this. The owners are going to be _so_ pissed at us when they see what we did to this place. I wish I'd thought to bring a camera." He shook his sister's shoulder, but there was still no response. "Jackie?" Milo finally pried his eyes from the ceiling to glance at his sister.

"Oh my god!" He scrambled urgently to his sister's side.

Jackie's head had struck the unrelenting stone with shattering force. Milo didn't need a medical degree to know she had a cracked skull. Blood was pooling around her head, soaking up into her purple and blue streaked brown hair, coating the side of her face and the floor beneath her. Her breathing was dangerously shallow.

Milo didn't hesitate, picking up his sister's damaged head between his own injured hands, ignoring his skin's cries of protest as he cradled Jackie's head carefully, searching for the epicentre of the damage. He didn't have much time, and very little remaining energy to work with. He tried not to let his fingers shake as he pressed his slightly more intact left palm to the bloody mass that marked the source of the injury.

Closing his eyes securely, he said a small prayer before starting to work on his spell. He hoped that he'd at least be able to do this one small thing correctly. Carefully pooling his dwindling energy reserves, he set to work, repairing the worst of the damage as best he knew how. He'd never perfected his first-aid training, but his parents had refused to teach him anything else about magic until he'd first mastered the basics.

Milo almost vomited when he felt the shards pop back into their proper places before knitting slowly back together, the bone pressing up against the pads of his fingers. As soon as he was reasonably sure that the skull itself was intact, he sent the gently probing energy a little deeper, carefully easing the swelling and repairing the tiny microscopic tears and bruises he found there. He cast another small little prayer heaven-ward, hoping that she hadn't suffered any brain damage. He was so absorbed in his task that he never heard the heavy oak doors being flung open, or the tramp of heavy boots rushing towards him.

He was listening so intently to the sound of Jackie's breaths deepening, becoming stronger and more even that he barely registered that someone was yelling at him.

"Stand and identify yourself, intruder!"

"Do I look a little busy here or what?" Milo responded distractedly, still trying to fix the damage he could. It seemed Jackie had cracked her cheekbone too. He could see the fresh purple bruises on her cheek darkening before fading to a patch of sickly looking yellow smudges as he channelled the last few dregs of his magic into the injury. Now fully exhausted, he'd done all he could do.

"Jackie," he whispered, tapping her unblemished right cheek lightly. "Jackie, come on. Wake up. I really need you to wake up right now." But the unconscious girl was completely unresponsive.

Milo let out a short bark of surprise when he felt a metal-clad hand land solidly on his shoulder, ripping him away from his sister.

"Hey!" he protested loudly, twisting away from the man's grip to stand between the onlookers and Jackie's limp form. "What the hell is your problem? Can't you see she's hurt! I need to help her!"

His bravado faltered when he beheld the score of men standing around him. Each one of them was wearing an elaborate suit of armour reminiscent of those worn by the angelic figures in the stain-glass representations, and were surrounding him and his sibling with drawn weapons.

"Is there a medieval fair going on around here or something?" He'd asked the question before he could help himself. While it was the only logical conclusion, none of these armoured men looked like they were in a particularly festive mood. All of the men remained stony and silent, their expressions hidden behind their helms. "Come on guys, say something. You're really starting to creep me out. If this is about the ceiling, I swear to god I'll fix it, or Jackie will when she wakes up."

At those words one of the men glanced up at the roof and muttered a soft oath under his breath. "My Lord Inquisitor," he said to the man next to him, wearing much more elaborate armour than the rest and a cloak of dark gold material. "They've desecrated the God's temple. Look." He indicated the gaping hole in the ceiling from which sunlight poured forth onto Milo's head, illuminating the surreal scene.

The gold-cloaked man spared the damaged masonry the briefest glance before announcing in a carrying voice, "In the name of the Saraphan Order, defenders of Nosgoth, and the authority invested in me by the will of the One God, I, High-Inquisitor Melchiah, do hereby arrest you on the charges of trespassing on the holy grounds of the Order, violating the sanctity of its inner cloister, and the numerous blasphemies resulting from such heresy. You will be held and detained under my authority until your trial. Captain," he instructed with an imperious wave of his hand. "Remove them."

"Sarafan?" Milo repeated in confusion. "Don't you mean 'Seraphic'? And where the hell is Nosgoth? Am I in Europe at least?" He scowled when his questions went unanswered, and the men began to advance towards him. "I never thought I'd say this, but I wish to god we'd ended up in Siberia," he muttered under his breath. While history had never been his favourite subject, he knew that the words 'inquisitor', 'trial', 'heresy', and 'blasphemy' in the same paragraph did not bode well.

Milo dug his hands into his pockets, grasping for anything that would help them out of this unreal situation. He looked to his sister desperately, finally noticing the twin bands of jade beads entwined around her wrist. He recognized it immediately as a power-sink, a method of storing magical energy for particularly powerful spells that required more mana than the caster possessed. Jackie must have been saving up for some sort of special project; her coven trials were coming up after all.

Before any of the armed fanatics could move to stop him, he dove for the bracelet, slipping the beads around his own wrist. He couldn't help letting out a small sigh of temporary relief as the potent energy reserve flooded into his veins. It wasn't enough power for a teleportation spell, at least not for both of them, but at least he wasn't completely helpless.

"Now," he said with a little more confidence, trying to reason with the man who'd introduced himself as 'High-Inquisitor Melchiah'. "I don't mean to offend you guys, whoever you are and whatever your beliefs, but there is going to be _no _trial. I'm sorry about your ceiling. I really am, but I would like to stress that it was _accidental_. I did not _intend_ to teleport in here. I screwed the spell up. It was a _mistake_, a really _big_ mistake. I am only human, and thus flawed." Milo's words became more and more frustrated. "Look, I'm not about to let you freaks 'interrogate' us over something so god damn trivial!"

They said nothing, continuing to circle around him with blades menacing, forcing him further and further away from his sister, still lying motionless on the cold marble floor in a pool of her own blood.

"Detain the boy," the officer said, "We'll put the girl in a cell to recover for questioning later."

"Screw you," Milo snapped, suddenly realizing that there were at least three men between him and Jackie now. He'd had enough of this ridiculous game. "I'm going to exercise my right to resist unlawful arrest if you lot don't cut it out right now!" He felt his back press up against the wall and realized he was out of room to run. "I'm warning you idiots; back it off!" When the nearest man closed the last few feet, mailed hand outstretched for him, he growled and muttered under his breath, "Damn it! Dad is going to kill me this time…."

He stepped into the man, pressing his palm to the centre of his chest plate. A sharp blast of telekinetic energy sent the armoured assailment flying across the room, colliding with a sickening thud into the wall several meters away. Momentarily taken aback, Milo stared at his hand. He hadn't meant for the effect to be that strong…

He couldn't afford to think about it, however, as five more men came at him, this time with sword-points levelled at his chest. They were incensed over the injury done to their comrade, and one look was enough for Milo to realize that he was going to be made to pay for it.

With few options left to him, he decided to take a more subtle approach, and cast a spell he affectionately called the 'nightmare cloud'. It was one of his specialties. He raised his hands in front of his chest and muttered the word, "_Terrorium_."

A dark cloud of purplish-pink mist coalesced in the air above the heads of his three nearest opponents, and seeped into their eye sockets. Milo held his breath, waiting for the spell to take effect. While he'd used this spell before to drive off a pair of muggers, it was impossible to predict the exact effect the hallucination-inducing mist would have on an individual. The potential thieves had probably envisioned being chased by an angry canine unit, judging by the one's scream to 'call off the dogs'. The reactions of the armoured 'Seraphan' were _not_ what he had come to expect. The nearest man dropped to the floor, screaming and clutching his head as if his skull was threatening to explode through sheer fright, almost convulsing under the strength of his fit before he passed out. The second man fainted dead away, while the third man's reaction was the most disturbing of all. He stood frozen for a moment, trembling like a frightened hare, before running the length of the chapel and into a solid wall of limestone masonry. He repeated the action four times before collapsing into merciful unconsciousness, his horrified screams trailing off into the tense air. Milo knew that the spell should not have done that to any of them, their reactions were just plain unnatural.

His mind was grasping for sanity. '_What the hell? That shouldn't be possible!_' He had no choice now but to investigate the source of his newfound power. It wasn't the power-sink. He'd 'borrowed' Jackie's bracelet before and he'd never had that kind of experience with it. He ran down the short list of possibilities, crossing each one off mentally. He was nowhere near any ley-lines; he'd have been able to sense that, and their effects were not quite that extreme. He had not imbibed anything that would account for this wild jump in his abilities, and natural magical growth did not progress so quickly that he would not have noticed it before now. There was only one explanation left, and however unlikely it was, it was the only one remotely feasible.

Milo lifted his head from staring at his hands and glared across at Inquisitor Melchiah. "What the fuck is the matter with you? What the hell are you doing that for?" He pointed accusingly at the still form of the man who'd run himself into walls.

The officer stared right back at the young spell-caster. "What have I done? You were the one who cast the infernal spell on these holy grounds!"

"That's not what I'm talking about, you freak!" Milo shouted back across the spacious room, his voice echoing off the ceiling, menacing in the veiled power it contained. The Inquisitor's men had backed away a safe distance from him, now justifiably leery to approach the young man. "I don't give a damn about your sermonizing, so shut it, or save it for someone who cares! That spell was just supposed to scare them off, not cause an instantaneous psychotic break! Why the hell are you amplifying my spells?" The Inquisitor was the only man Milo bothered accusing. He was the only one present with an aura strong enough to indicate any significant amount of magical potential.

For once, the Inquisitor allowed an emotion other than anger to emerge. "What on Nosgoth are you talking about, boy?" he enquired in what appeared to be genuine confusion.

"You heard me!" Milo was almost beside himself with rage now. "Those were basic, non-aggressive, defence tactics. Nobody was supposed to be hurt. My TK blast should not have injured your man that badly, and my 'nightmare' spell should not have driven three men over the brink of insanity. I am not that powerful! What did you do to me?" Milo glanced around at his unwitting victims again, and swore. "This is so damn messed up, and Dad is going to kill me!"

He guessed that his eyes must have been glowing with his carefully restrained power, because several of the men muttered oaths and clutched their weapons tighter, looking to the Inquisitor for direction.

"And why would I do something like that?" While Inquisitor Melchiah was still confused, his righteous fury had returned. His grip on his spear was white knuckled.

"How the hell should I know?" Milo bellowed in exasperation. "Maybe it was inadvertent, and the effect was meant to be passed to one of your men, or maybe you wanted to scare me into not using my powers. I don't pretend to understand the logic of fools!"

Melchiah's expression soured. "I do not appreciate being insulted by heretics, let alone one who is barely out of their childhood, boy," his voice darkened in barely repressed ire. "And while I do possess the ability you accuse me of, I have not had cause to use it in almost a week. Whatever crimes you have perpetrated lie at your own feet. You will not evade judgement." His hand urged his men forward with a bored gesture. They did not hesitate to obey, their anxiety melting away. Whoever they were, Milo grudgingly admitted that they were well trained.

"Look, you brain-dead fanatics," Milo barked, his hands balling into fists. "I don't have patience for this anymore. I'm having trouble controlling my powers, a phenomenon with potentially lethal results. You push me any further and I'm going to have to take this fight up a notch. I'm fast reaching the point where I'm going to stop caring about what I do to you guys. Get it?"

"Utter your evil threats elsewhere, sorcerer," one of the armoured men spoke up, his voice even and sure. "We do not fear you. Our faith sustains and protects us. You have no power over us here in our sanctuary."

Milo couldn't help but role his eyes. "Whatever. Don't say I didn't warn you. Damn idiots." He pressed his palms together and cried, "_Philo-pyre_!" A fireball the size of his head blossomed between them, hot orange and radiating so much heat that even Milo had to turn his face away. "Last chance! It gets nasty from here on out!" Milo regarded the men coldly, allowing his anger to cement his resolve. "Fine."

He pulled his hands away from each other, the ball of flame following his right hand. With a casual wave of his fist, he sent a surge of flame hurtling across the marble floor towards the Saraphan men. Five dropped to the ground, crying out in pain, their garments alight. Milo forced his ears to become deaf to their cries, bringing his fire-whip back to strike a blow against another knight who'd come too close for comfort. He had a small bit of satisfaction though. Melchiah's expression said that this confrontation was not progressing at all the way the Inquisitor had planned. His heart sunk when the Inquisitor signalled to the nearest knight, whispering orders in his ear. The man disappeared out of the massive set of double doors. _Damn._ That could only mean reinforcements were on the way.

Milo glanced over at his sister. He had to keep their attention drawn away from her long enough for the girl to recover. He was able to hold his own in this fight so far, but Jackie was not magically exhausted and he was under no illusions at the moment about the strength of his sister's abilities. If he was doing well, that could only mean that Jackie would wipe the floor with them in the most humiliating manner possible. She had a tendency to be sadistic that way. All he had to do was lure them off and away from the real threat lying unconscious at their feet. Easier said than done.

When Melchiah fired off a spell at him he was ready for it, simply stepping out of the telekinetic blast's range. The spell shattered one of the windows, and bits of glass and stone rained against Milo's back, bouncing harmlessly off the denim of his thick jean jacket. He'd knocked two more men into nearby walls, lighting their leather trappings and tabards aflame with his whip, when the twin doors into the chamber were flung wide open.

Milo was hard-pressed not to gape. Another two score men trouped into the room, followed by three men who possessed the same self-absorbed arrogance and bearing of the Inquisitor Melchiah, though each was clad in a separate, distinctive colour. Where Melchiah wore gold, the others were displaying elaborate trappings in shades of dark red, forest green, and royal purple. Had his sister not been at stake, Milo would have jumped out the nearest window at the sight of them, and risked whatever dangers lurked outside. The two Inquisitors wearing red and green radiated auras much more powerful than Melchiah's; Milo knew a hopeless cause when he saw one. They were nowhere near as powerful as a Coven-certified caster, but between them, their strength was more than sufficient to do the job. He'd do his best, but if Jackie didn't wake up soon they were both screwed. The one advantage Milo realized he held was that they didn't seem to know that. Else, Melchiah would have waited for the reinforcements in the first place.

"What transpires Brother Melchiah?" the one wearing dark purple said, a note of contempt in his voice. There was the look of a warrior to him, in his stance and in his build. "Surely you can deal with one teenage boy, or are you so inept and inexperienced?"

To Melchiah's credit, he ignored the taunt, instead pointing at the ceiling. "Look what he has done to our private chapel, brothers. The boy may also have killed at least five of my men using his magic. I thought it best to summon you, rather than risk more destruction and losses at his hands."

"What sort of magic?" the green-clad inquisitor stepped in front of the purple one, cutting off any further comments from him.

"It appears to be mostly elemental," Melchiah answered hesitantly. He seemed to be embarrassed. "Though I've not as much experience in the field as you do, Brother Turel. Whatever it is, it is powerful."

"I gathered that, Brother Melchiah," the one in green commented disparagingly. "But you can't be blamed for not knowing." He turned his stark gaze to Milo, who was watching the proceedings in trepidation. "He is not associated with any undead, is he?"

"Not from what I can tell," the gold inquisitor returned, "Though he did demonstrate a rather sinister spell that drove three men insane. Whoever he is, and whomever he is associated with, he needs to be cleansed."

"I do not doubt," the one in red agreed, nodding his head sagely. He projected an air about him that left no doubt in Milo's mind about who was in charge in this place. Jackie's still, blood-soaked form caught the man's eye, "And the girl?"

"His sister apparently, Brother Raziel," Melchiah confirmed. He seemed especially eager to please this man. "She was already in that condition when I entered."

"There is much blood for so very few injuries," the one named Turel observed.

"He was engaged in healing her wounds when we attempted to apprehend him," Melchiah admitted. He looked uncomfortable now. "I knew he had magic, but he appeared drained and I underestimated his strength. It is a mistake I will not make again."

"You have newly joined our ranks, Brother Melchiah," the red inquisitor said, "You are permitted a _few_ mistakes." There was a special emphasis on the word 'few' that had Melchiah cringing in shame.

Milo listened to their conversation distantly, surrounded by a ring of hostile warriors. He was not having a very good day. He felt like he should be saying something, trying to diffuse the situation, but he had no idea where to start. He was only sixteen years old after all.

"Look," he finally called over to them, allowing the flames in his fist to be extinguished. The Inquisitors appeared surprised that he would address them so directly. "I really don't mean to intrude, but I'd like to, again, make it very clear that _I_ did not start this fight." Milo pointed at Inquisitor Melchiah, "He did. I apologized for the ceiling and offered to fix it. He is the one who insisted on blowing this whole situation out of proportion. I was only protecting my sister from paying for something that wasn't her fault. The 'nightmare cloud' thing was entirely accidental; I guess you guys were just more sensitive to it than I expected. I warned you over and over what I was capable of doing if you pushed me into it, and you ignored me. I cannot be blamed for that fool's actions." He allowed a little of his bitterness to leech into his voice at that. "Is it too much to ask for everyone to calm down so we can deal with this situation like sane, rational people?"

"Well, he has some nerve," the purple inquisitor remarked aloud. He was the only one Milo didn't have the name of yet. He turned to the inquisitor named Raziel, "Shall I deal with him them, since you are all too much cowards to try?" He started towards Milo, warriors scrambling to stay out of his path.

"I'm not sure that's wise, Brother Dumah," Raziel called after him, but his admonitions were ignored.

Milo was no idiot. There was no way he was going to allow that juggernaut near him, whether he wanted to diffuse the situation or not. Dumah looked big enough and mean enough to bend the young spell-caster in two, if he so chose.

"God. Damned. Primitive. IDIOTS!" Milo hollered in frustration. He drew his hand back concentrating telekinetic force in his palm. The magic flowed and complied with his will, with astonishing swiftness. He allowed the raw magic to compact into a single point, distilling the strength of the spell into a centre. It was a rough spell, but it would conserve the most energy. Dumah didn't look like the type to dodge a blow, and he appeared dumb enough, to Milo's way of thinking, to take the force full in his chest. They couldn't see his magic the way he could see theirs.

"Dumah!" Inquisitor Turel called out. "Damn you, get back here!"

But the Inquisitor had already left the safety of the circle of men and it was too late. Milo released the blast when Dumah stood not five feet from him. Again, Milo had completely underestimated the force of the blast. The Inquisitor went flying across the length of the room, nearly striking Melchiah on his way to collide with one of the heavy doors, slamming it closed with a wooden groan of protest. His head slammed backwards on impact, knocking him out cold.

The other inquisitors were incensed. Inquisitor Turel seemed especially furious and threatening, a glow of magic condensing around his hand. Milo watched it carefully; trying to anticipate from the flow of energy which form it would take. Some sort of enchantment, he wasn't sure. Compared to the method of magic his parent's had taught him, the magic the Inquisitors had used so far was unrefined and sloppy.

"Ware Brother Turel," Melchiah warned him. "The boy mentioned that he could benefit from amplification spells. I would be careful with the magic I chose to wield against him if I were you."

Turel nodded silently, accepting the advice, because the nature of his spell changed. Milo was already anticipating it before he could strike. A sharp blast of energy sailed towards him, and this time at a speed too fast to dodge. All Milo had time for was to raise his stiff left forearm in front of his face. A tattoo on the skin of his arm lit up brightly, and before Turel's spell could touch him, formed a glimmering shield in the air. Not only did Milo's magical shield repel the destructive spell, it deflected it into the ranks of warriors standing around him. The ground beneath their feet exploded. At this the battle began in earnest, and Milo was forced to summon his fire-whip again to fend of the pressing ranks of Seraphan.

Milo's magic was slowly being drained, not quite as quickly as he'd originally estimated, but with every second he sustained his magical weapon and shield, he was one step closer to running out of mana. He knew he was going to loose, it was inevitable of course, but he would protect Jackie for as long as his strength held out. Or so he'd thought.

"Pull back," a strong voice carried over the war cries and screams of pain as Milo brought his whip down against the gaps in their armour. The air was filled with the stench of burned flesh and blood. He was happy for the respite when they pulled away from him, giving him room to breath. He almost choked when he saw why they had been ordered away from him. High-Inquisitor Raziel was standing over Jackie, his plated boot planted in her chest and his spear-tip pressing against her neck.

"You, boy," the dark-haired man called to him. "Surrender to our will, now, or I will kill your sister."

Milo didn't hesitate for a moment. He dropped to his knees, dispelling his magic, and laced his fingers behind his head. The gesture of submission was a tad excessive given the circumstances; they weren't police in the way he understood the concept, but he wanted no doubts that he was complying with their wishes. Despite his fear for his sister, a tiny, perversely morbid part of him enjoyed their shocked expressions, at both his actions and the swiftness with which he had complied.

"Well, that worked better than I expected," Raziel allowed himself a small, pleased smile after he had recovered sufficiently. "Do you wish to restrain him Brother Turel?"

"Certainly," his fellow inquisitor replied calmly, though there was no mistaking that something about Milo disturbed him greatly. He stepped forward, took the boy's arms from behind his head and clamped a pair of manacles around Milo's wrists, hauling him to his feet.

"Brother Melchiah," Inquisitor Raziel caught Melchiah's attention. "Fetch the healers to attend Brother Dumah and the other injured, and make arrangements for the girl. Turel and I will deal with the boy."

"Is she okay?" Milo asked the question before he could stop himself, resisting Inquisitor Turel's insistent pull. He just had to know.

Inquisitor Raziel removed his spear-tip and checked the girl's pulse. It seemed wiser to indulge the boy than to leave him wondering. "She's alive."

"Thank god!" Milo breathed a sigh of relief.

"Why did you do that?" Milo heard Inquisitor Raziel ask. He stared at the man. What was wrong with these people that they couldn't even figure out something that simple?

Milo shrugged, "What do you mean? Why did I fight you, or why did I stop the way I did?" He didn't bother to wait for an answer. "I don't suppose it matters, because either way, the answer's still the same. She's my older sister. I _love _her. She always takes the blame for me. It was my turn this time around." He looked around at the army of men surrounding him and shook his head. "Don't shoot the messenger, but I think you guys are in need of some _serious_ therapy; I mean the deep shit. You've got some messed up issues. Imagine not knowing that?"

Inquisitor Turel cuffed him roughly upside the back of his head. As he was led off through the maze of twisting, but beautiful corridors, Milo felt a flutter of hope settle in his chest. Jackie was alive, which meant she would get better. When she got better, she would help him. He knew that if these crazy people were what they appeared to be, they were going to seriously underestimate her. Everyone did; and everyone paid for it.

**(You'll have to wait until the next chapter to find out why Milo's magic both screwed up, and why it continues to screw up. He is **not** god-modded. There is a reason. There is always a reason. And the reason is…. I have no life! Next chapter introduces Becca the Fan-girl.)**


	3. Chapter 3: Becca's Fantasy Adventure

**Chapter 3: Becca's Magical Fantasy Adventure**

By: Dragonaia

A/N: It took forever to end this chapter. The damn thing just did not want to be finished. But I succeeded. Poor Milo. He's having a very bad day. As always, review are welcome.

Jackie blinked sleepily, trying to ignore the dull ache in the back of her head. It felt like her brain was throbbing. In fact, the only reason she was awake at all was the profound and insistent sensation that told her something was wrong, very wrong. She couldn't remember exactly why at the moment, but the instinct was strong enough to allow her to shake off her sleepiness, sit up, and throw her feet over the edge of the bed. Groaning in pain, she rubbed at the sore spot on her scalp. She pulled her hand away when she realized there was something wrong with her hair. It was tangled and matted to her scalp, curls hanging lankly, half undone from the ponytail she drawn them up into. She pulled the hair elastic the rest of the way out and tried to finger-comb through the mess, while pulling on the bruised skin beneath as little as possible. Flecks of dried blood dusted the leg of her pale jeans. Wait… Blood?

The sight of the blood woke Jackie up enough to trigger the memories of how that injury had occurred. Her skull ached as she tried to piece it together clearly. The teleportation spell had backfired; she could definitely recall that. And they'd been falling, she and Milo. She'd seen it, and moved to protect him. She ran that recollection over and over in her mind before her hazy logic finally clicked into place. She must have hit her head; that was it. It would certainly explain why it was so hard to think at the moment.

She raised her hands to her scalp, allowing her magic to probe and soothe the aches she found there. Jackie was surprised to see that someone had already been there before her. Milo, it had to have been Milo. She was forced to concede that he had done a fairly decent job. Not perfect, first-aid was never his forte, but well enough that she almost didn't need to do any work herself. A few seconds of directed energy, and the pain was gone, and her thinking was much clearer. She made a mental note to thank him later.

Jackie let out a great yawn and fisted her eyes, trying to force herself to wake up. After a few minutes of wrestling with her sleepy brain she was alert enough to take stock of her situation and surroundings. She was still wearing the same clothes she'd been about to leave the house with last night, though there were streaks of blood down most of them now. She inspected the bloodstains on her new winter jacket and frowned, thinking of the dry-cleaning bill. Jackie was glad she was wearing it though. It was cold in the room. She could feel dampness clinging to her skin from the t-shirt, and knew that she'd gotten blood inside her coat too. She looked around, searching for her gym bag so that she could get out a clean shirt. But it was nowhere to be seen.

The room was built of dark brown stone, and chains were dangling from the walls. Jackie almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it. She was in a dungeon? Who used dungeons anymore? Where the hell had Milo landed them this time? There weren't many clues to work with. The walls were featureless, and the only light came from a flickering oil lamp lit outside the cell's barred door. Her hands clenched the mattress beneath her, testing its material. It was made from some cheap wool fabric stuffed with straw. Not very telling, except that the prison system in this country probably didn't have much of a budget. Jackie sniffed the air, though she knew it was futile. She was mildly allergic to straw and sleeping on it had left her sinuses all stuffed up. As if she wasn't feeling miserable enough already. Straining her ears didn't help either; the only sound was the drip of water in the distance.

Jackie made to stand, but quickly gave up when her legs almost went out from under her. She'd been so focused on remembering, that she hadn't noticed the pain in places besides her head. It took fifteen minutes of carefully directed healing spells to detect and repair the hairline fractures and muscle tears in her arms and legs. When she was done, she couldn't help but be surprised by the speed with which it had been accomplished, and her magical reserves were hardly taxed at all. Even given the baffling circumstances she found herself in, she smiled.

The sound of echoing footsteps coming down the corridor caught her attention and she scrambled to her cell's iron bars to catch a glimpse of the prison guard walking towards her.

"Hey," she called out as the shadow rounded the corner and came into view. "Where the hell am I? When do I get out of… here?" Her voice faltered when she realized what the man was wearing: medieval-style armour, a sword, and a spear.

The guard drew level with where she was leaning against the bars, his face equally surprised. "What are you doing awake? The healers said you wouldn't be conscious for another day or so."

"Yeah-huh, whatever." Jackie massaged her eyes to clear her vision, half-convinced that she was hallucinating this man was wearing metal armour. "Where am I, and where is my brother?"

"You're not in any position to be asking questions, girl," he snapped. Now over his surprise, his mood had soured.

"And yet, I am," Jackie responded with equal venom. "Now tell me where my brother is."

"Or you'll do what?"

Jackie glared at the guard, considering what to say. Of course, she could always just hex him into unconsciousness and blast the door off; there were no counter-spells on this room to prevent that. Unfortunately, it wasn't a very subtle method, and it might alert someone to her presence, and the threat she may present. She also wouldn't be able to find out where her brother was. "I'll sing," she threatened instead, a playful smile quirking into life.

The guard blinked at her. "You'll what?"

"You heard me," Jackie continued, her eyes brightening in amusement. "I'll sing… at the top of my lungs, very loudly, for several hours. I have a large variety of annoying show-tunes in my arsenal to choose from."

"I don't understand," the man took a step back, his brow wrinkling in confusion.

"Not much to understand," Jackie shrugged, arms crossing over her chest. "This is a very small, narrow space, and I have a very loud, carrying voice. I am also tone-deaf. You tell me where my brother is, or I swear to you, I will do my very best to make the rest of your shift the most unpleasant thing you have ever experienced in your entire life."

The guard opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, "Still don't get it? All right-y-then. Obviously, I'm going to have to be a bit more blunt about this. How about a demo? Off I go!" Jackie proceeded to launch into song, belting the words of '_Tomorrow_' from the Broadway '_Annie' _at the top of her lungs. She was normally a decent vocalist, but of course, as she almost screamed the words to the song, her voice cracked and squeaked at inopportune times, causing her to cringe when it forced her off-key. Her voice bounced and echoed off the tight corridors and tiny cells, adding to the horrible rising tide of noise.

The guard reacted the way anyone would, by covering his ears. But after five minutes of screeching, he lost his temper and kicked at the bars of the cell, forcing Jackie to jump back and cut off her song.

"All right, all right! I'll tell you where he is if you'll just shut up!" he yelled the offer through the bars, hands still over his ears. It wouldn't hurt to tell her. It's not like she could do anything about it. If it made her shut up it would be well worth it.

Jackie couldn't help but notice that he was now within reaching distance. "So?" she prompted, "Where is he?

"Upstairs, being interrogated by the Lord Inquisitors," the guard removed his hands from his ears and shivered. "I would not want to be in his position right now."

"Why?" Jackie's eyes narrowed. '_Inquisitor?_' she thought. '_I don't like the sound of that._'

"He's been partaking of their particular brand of 'hospitality' for a little over four hours now," the guard said. "I'd be surprised if he was even still conscious by this point."

"You mean he's being tortured?" Jackie gasped. Her mind had suddenly gone blank, all plans vanishing in that instant.

"What else would I mean?"

Jackie reached out to grasp the bars for support. Her hand travelled to her mouth. She felt faint. "You're sure?"

"After the destruction wrought in the Inquisitor's private chapel, I would not be surprised. Word has it that they're more furious than anyone has ever seen them." The guard regarded her evenly. "I'm not sure what they plan to do with you. I suppose I should inform someone that you're awake."

Jackie gave him an absent nod. "Yes, you're right. You probably should, but sir," she looked up at him, her eyes almost pleading. "Thanks for your help."

The guard opened his mouth to speak but whatever he'd been about to say was choked off by the girl's hand lashing out from between the bars and grasping the lip of his breastplate. She hauled back as hard as she could, launching her weight back into the room and driving the guard's face into the bars. He collapsed to the ground with a broken nose and bruised forehead, unconscious.

Jackie's hands wrapped around the lock of the door, allowing her telekinesis to slowly flow into the metal, and turn the mechanism. She used the least amount of energy possible, ever mindful that it might attract the wrong individual's attention. As the door opened, it rolled the body of the guard onto his back, exposing a set of keys at his belt.

"Thank you very much for your help, sir," Jackie smirked, pocketing them before dragging the man into the cell she'd just escaped from and locking it shut behind her. She looked both ways down the corridor before choosing the direction the guard had come from. It seemed the safest best. She was rewarded with a spiralling set of stairs, a locked door standing at their head. She plunged a key into the lock and rushed through when it turned.

The door opened into a broad, empty corridor of cut stone, the far wall of which was lined with arrow-slit windows. Strangely, there were no guards in this passage. Jackie couldn't fathom what sort of prison would have such incompetent and lax security. Glancing outside the windows didn't help either. She could see a deep lake surrounding the foundations of the building, and beyond that, high rocks and forests. All of it was foreign to her. The distant trees were turning fiery red at the tips. It must have been the fall season here, because the warmth was starting to get to her. Jackie unzipped her thinsulate jacket and tied the arms around her waist. She turned down the corridor, taking in every detail about her. There was something so familiar about this place. Not that she had ever been there before, because of course she hadn't, but she was sure she must have seen it in a picture somewhere.

She was so caught up in looking at the tapestries lining the walls that she almost missed the echo of footfalls approaching. With little choice in the matter, Jackie reached for the nearest door, turning the handle and slipping inside. The tiny room was vacant, and the furniture was sparse, reminiscent of a monk's cell. In fact, other than the absence of chains hanging from the ceiling and its own lamp, it wasn't all that different in construction from her dark prison cell. One key difference caught her attention. Sitting on a small stand next to the bed was a pitcher of water, a washbasin, a cloth, and a towel. Jackie took a step towards it, glancing in the small mirror on the wall. One side of her cheek was coated in blood, and her hair was thick with it. Even with the danger looming so near, Jackie couldn't help herself. She dunked the washcloth in the water and began to wipe off as much of the blood as she could. If there was one thing the young Craft-user couldn't stand, it was being dirty. Once she'd removed as much of it from her hair as she could, she pulled it back up into a loose bun at the back of her neck. A chamber pot caught her eye from under the bed and she relieved the urge she'd been suppressing since she'd first awoken. She was beginning to feel considerably better by the time she pressed her back up against the door, listening to see if the inhabitants had passed by yet. Her efforts were rewarded with silence and she pushed the door open, glancing left and right carefully. Whoever they'd been, they were gone now. Jackie began to pick her way back down the hallway.

She made it ten feet down the hall when she noticed that there was a cross-passage up ahead. Two armoured guards stood at the entrance of this one, and Jackie chose to duck out of sight into a small alcove behind her, pausing to regroup her thoughts. Immediately across from where she stood, hanging proudly between two great panes of glass, was a tapestry that was hauntingly familiar. A large green eye was sitting on a blue-green field that made up the robe of a spear-bearing woman. Jackie's eyes narrowed in concentration. She knew that symbol from somewhere, but where? It wasn't the all-seeing eye, though it did bear a close resemblance. Despite the men standing guard nearby, Jackie wanted to growl in frustration. Why did she know that symbol?

The clank of armour caught her attention, and she watched in unease as the two men straightened up, saluting to a third, shorter, knight. Jackie pressed herself closer into the wall, hoping her presence would go unnoticed. The knight appeared confused as he walked towards her, glancing this way and that as if to take in his surroundings. It was strange behaviour to say the least, and Jackie was surprised the sentries had not noticed. Of course, as the knight passed by, his meanderings almost caused him to step on her feet. Jackie couldn't help but let out a short bark of surprise when he abruptly wheeled around to face her.

She couldn't see his face, but she could tell by the small jump he made that he was surprised to see her there. But instead of shouting, he pressed a finger to his mask for silence, and took her by the wrist. Jackie allowed herself to be pulled a safe distance down the hall until they were far out of hearing range of the sentries. Then the knight turned to her and lifted his helm.

"Becca?" Jackie gasped.

The other girl removed the metal helm and flashed a cheerful smile. "Hi Jackie. I didn't expect to see you here." Becca kept her voice very low, though it was pitched high with excitement. "Isn't this the coolest thing ever?"

"Huh?" Jackie grunted, her face blank.

"Haven't you realized yet?" Her smile grew almost painfully wide with exhilaration. She pointed out the window. "We're in Nosgoth."

"I don't follow."

Becca sighed in exasperation. "Nosgoth, like in the '_Legacy of Kain_' games I lent you. You know, the Saraphan, Raziel, Kain, and vampires? Any of this ringing a bell?" She ran a gauntlet through her short black hair. "I don't know about you, but this is quite possibly the coolest dream I've ever had!"

"Dream?" Jackie parroted the word aloud, before the implications sunk in. She finally recalled where she'd seen the symbol on the tapestry. It was in the Saraphan Stronghold of the LoK games. "Have you been running around all this time thinking this was a dream?"

"Yeah…" Becca answered uneasily.

"For four whole hours?"

Becca seemed a little thrown off by the question. "How did you know I've been here four hours?"

"Never mind that," Jackie brushed away the subject. "We need someplace safe for this." With an exasperated sigh she took hold of her friend's hand and towed her to the room she'd cleaned up in. "This is better," she said, closing the door securely behind them. "Back to business. Where and how did you get here? I really need to know what happened."

"Umm…" Becca hesitated a little. "I don't know exactly. One minute I was paired up with the _sempai_ because you were late for class, the next minute I'm lying in a pile of burnt wreckage staring up at a hole in the ceiling. I heard people yelling, so I slipped into a nearby suit of armour and blended in with the crowd of people that came to investigate. It was surprisingly easy. I guess I figured the _sempai_ knocked me out and I was having a weird dream." Her eyes widened in realization. "I'm not dreaming, am I?"

Jackie swiftly repressed the urge to smack the girl. Logistically, unless you knew magic existed, it was the only rational conclusion a normal person could come to. "It would be a very vivid dream if you were, now wouldn't it?" Jackie said instead. "Now, I need you to pay very close attention. Did you notice anything strange about the floor where you woke up? Any markings or something like that?"

"Yeah…" Becca said slowly. "There were markings, burnt right into the floor. I can't tell you much because I really didn't get time to take a good look at them. What's that look for?"

Jackie wanted to scream. She evaded the question by pacing the few steps across the room to sit on the hard bed and buried her face in her hands. "I am going to kill my idiot brother at the first opportunity." She let out a calming breath. "Now I just have to figure out what to do to get us all back home."

"Your brother?" Becca repeated. "What does he have to do with this? Oh…" Becca grabbed her friend by the arm and knelt down to face her. "You know how we got here, don't you?"

Jackie couldn't help a cynical chuckle. "You think we just spontaneously appeared in Nosgoth? Becca, I know you're a tad obsessed with the whole LoK thing, but just how many fanfics do you read?"

Becca ignored the weak taunt, "What does your brother have to do with our appearing in Nosgoth?"

"It doesn't matter," Jackie dismissed her. Even given the exceptional circumstances, she just couldn't bring herself to tell her one and only friend what she really was. She just couldn't. "What I want to know is why we ended up _here_, of all places, and how in the hell you got dragged along with us?" She groaned and clutched her head as the answer struck her. "Oh god… the disk!"

"What?"

"The disk: your fingerprints were probably on the game disc you lent me. The water for the focus landed on the surface of it, so that might explain how you got drawn here along with us. But why here? It's impossible. By rights, this place shouldn't even exist." Her head abruptly snapped up and she shot Becca a glance. "How did you figure out where we were so fast?"

Becca shrugged; startled by Jackie's extreme mood swings. "Too many fanfics I guess," she responded with a sheepish smile. Jackie had always seemed very even to her before now, if a tad isolated and a little too intelligent for her own good. But the girl she was seeing now was so intense she was almost scary. "Why won't you tell me what's going on, Jackie?"

"Because I don't know myself," Jackie snapped, though quietly.

"Come on Jackie," Becca encouraged, "You know me. I'm your friend. You can trust me. Just tell me what you _do_ know then." It had been hard work becoming friends with Jackie. The girl was as wily and suspicious as a feral cat. Not that the effort hadn't been worth it. Jackie was just plain interesting to know. She was crazy-smart, and knew the strangest things. Every time Becca thought she'd figured her out, she would sink beneath a new layer of her personality. It had been six months before Jackie had even told Becca her brother's name, and that had been an accidental slip. She couldn't help but be excited, even more excited than she was about being in Nosgoth. Maybe this was the last layer; maybe she would finally get to meet the real Jackie.

Jackie ran a tired hand down her face. "Promise you won't hate me?" It was silly to put it off. She would have to tell Becca eventually, especially since she needed help finding Milo.

"How could I hate you?"

"Very well then… I-" Jackie's voice almost broke. "I… have magic powers."

"What kind of powers?" Becca asked without missing a step. "Witchcraft? Super-hero? Mutant? Demonic? Angelic? Do I have to beware a Sailor Moon style transformation? Come on Jackie; don't leave me hanging here. Details."

Jackie pulled away. "You're very accepting of all this."

"Hello," Becca laughed nervously, "We're in Nosgoth. At this point, nothing surprises me."

Jackie blinked at her friend for a few seconds before a small smile crept to her face. "I suppose 'witchcraft' would be the description you'd best understand," she disclosed nervously.

"Witchcraft huh?" Becca seemed to digest this information. "Wicca?"

"That's fake." Jackie made a face. "Well, not fake, but more like a religion. Not much actual magic in it."

"Druid then?"

"No," Jackie shook her head. "The true Druids died out. Besides, the style of Craft that my family practices is older, much older than that."

"It's a genetic thing," Becca observed. "How old?"

"I can trace my direct lineage back almost fifteen hundred years," Jackie admitted. There was a quiet pride in her words. "And I'm talking full documentation. My family keeps very careful records. Outside of records, our lineage goes back many centuries further."

Becca was impressed. "Wow… I'm not even sure what to say to that."

Jackie suddenly straightened up, glancing around her. She'd almost forgotten where they were. "We don't have much time for this. I've got to find my brother. So here's the quick synopsis. My extended family and I call ourselves 'Craft-users'. The details of our abilities are a little bit difficult to go into right now, but think 'Harry Potter' minus the wands, impossible animals, and the silliness, combined with the guy from the Dresden Files, but with a bit more kick. Yes, I read fantasy books. You can laugh at me later. To make a long story short, my brother, Milo, was practicing his teleportation techniques, and…" Jackie proceeded to launch into a quick and dirty description of the events that had led up to their mysterious appearance in the heretofore-fictional Nosgoth.

"So you got knocked out on re-entry? That's where all the blood's from?" Becca asked; pointing out the shallow bruises that Jackie hadn't bothered to repair.

"Yeah. I just woke up. The prison guard told me they were torturing my brother for messing up the ceiling, so we have got to find him soon. Problem is: I haven't got a clue where to start looking. I mean, we've both been here in the game, but real life has got to be a hell of a lot different. It's not like all the doors will be conveniently locked so we always know what direction to take. There's about six different directions we could go, and I haven't a clue which one is the right one."

"Oh well," Becca smiled. "We can figure it out, right? We're not completely helpless. You've got magic powers; I've got a black belt. We can't do too badly."

Jackie repressed the urge to hit her friend. "Becca, please tell me you are seriously not happy about being here."

"Umm…"

"Becca," Jackie gathered her patience as she took a deep breath. "Becca, look at me. I know this is a weird situation and you're just trying to cope, but I need you to be thinking clearly. I don't have time to deal with an air-headed fan-girl, all right? Now listen. As far as we can tell, we are in ancient Nosgoth. The Saraphan are in power; we don't know which dynasty. They are crazy, sadistic, and they have armies and powerful magicks at their behest. It looks pretty nice outside, so it's safe to assume the corruption hasn't set in. There are vampires out there, and we are modern humans, two of which are female, and pink and fleshy. Those vampires will try to eat us no matter what we may think about them. We know the basic topography of the countryside, but not much more than that. I can barely pronounce the names of half the places located on the map. We have no weapons to defend ourselves with properly, and we know more about these people's lives and futures than we ought to. We may as well have a giant neon sign over our heads flashing 'Kill me!' to everybody we meet." As Jackie spoke, the excitement slowly bled from Becca's face and she began to look afraid as the implications sunk in. "Not only that, but if we do die here, we have a giant, soul-eating squid to look forward to. No light at the end of the tunnel for us. No welcoming arms of relatives. Right now, we are so royally screwed I can't even express how completely _petrified_ I am. This is not some magical fantasy adventure, Becca. We need to find a way home, and we need to find it _now_!"

Becca ran a hand across her forehead. "You're quite the optimist, you know that?" She gave a shaky laugh. "So what should we do? Do you have a plan?"

"Well," Jackie said as she dug into her pocket. "We can use this to find my brother." She pulled out an amethyst teardrop pendulum from her pocket, "But I'm not sure how we're going to make our way through this place. How do we get past the guards?"

"I spent most of the morning staying out of the way and bluffing my way past," Becca confessed bleakly. "Sight-seeing, you know. It was kind of a stupid thing to do, now that I think about it. I'm amazed I wasn't caught. I suppose the only way we're going to get the both of us through is strong-arm tactics. I don't think we could pull off that whole 'prisoner' routine they do in movies all the time."

"Not with only the one 'guard', even if we did manage to dig up a pair of shackles," Jackie agreed. She peered down the hallway in the direction of the guards. "Are you sure we can out-muscle them? They look pretty big, and they're wearing armour."

"So am I." Becca wrapped on her breastplate.

"Yeah, but you don't have a sword or anything."

"Like that matters," Becca admonished her gently. "Surely you've been taking classes long enough to know better than that."

Jackie had the grace to blush. "Good point."

"Anyway, couldn't you just use magic on them or something? Knock them out or stun them."

"I could," Jackie considered it. "But it's not the best idea. Not only should I conserve my mana for a real emergency, but I might also trigger an alert. If this really is Nosgoth, chances are I'm not the only one with magic powers in the district. If I used my gifts in such a significant way, we might find a round dozen Saraphan sorcerers breathing down our necks for my troubles. I'm good, but I'm not that good."

Becca nodded absently. She wasn't sure she quite understood, but it was Jackie's area of expertise after all. "So the best bet is to just keep walking past them like we know where we're going, and if anybody tries to stop us we beat the crap out them. I like it. It's simple, and very Kain-esque. Very in flow with Nosgothic tradition."

Jackie smiled reluctantly. It was funny and ironic, but this just wasn't the time to be joking about it. "I'm going to use my pendulum now. Let me know if you see anybody coming. I need to concentrate." She removed a pin from the collar of her jacket and stuck it in the pad of her thumb, drawing blood. After smearing the blood on the amethyst, she dangled it above the palm of her other hand.

"I share the same blood as my brother, so this should help me attune to his wave-length," she explained, staring intently at the object. There was a breathless moment before the pendant began to move on its own accord, like the needle of a compass. It strained on its lead towards some place in the interior of the building, almost horizontal with Jackie's hand as it pulled the string tight. The result was undeniable, and there was no guesswork involved. Becca tried to contain her giggle of delight. It was her first time seeing real magic in action.

"Well, Milo seems to be on this floor," Jackie whispered, as she began to make her way carefully out of the room and back down the hall. "We'll have to move around to get a more accurate reading." She tucked the pendulum around her neck, where it fell quiet.

The guards didn't look up as Jackie and Becca neared. Becca had replaced her stolen helmet and was striding towards them confidently, Jackie trailing behind her, obscured from immediate sight. The pair had almost walked right past the sentries when one of the men suddenly noticed the young woman in the foreign clothes, covered in dried blood. Becca didn't hesitate, driving her armoured fist into the man's face. He went down before he could make a sound. Jackie had difficulty with the other man though. She managed to duck under his sword blow and punch him in the throat, cutting off any cry for help he might have made, but it was difficult to attack someone wearing a metal suit. Becca solved the problem by ripping a staff from a wall display and cracking him over the head with it.

"What I never understood," Becca panted, giving Jackie a shaky smile, "Is why they leave weapons all over the place. I mean, aren't you just arming potential invaders? What kind of totally brain-dead moron did the decorating in here?"

"Not sure," Jackie responded absently, removing her pendant to check their bearings. "I think we're going in the right direction. Let's keep on walking this way."

The two girls turned right and made their way down the door-lined corridor, trying their very best to be as quiet and inconspicuous as humanly possible. It was only when the pendant swung to point directly at a heavily armoured door that Jackie stopped, examining it. The walls were too thick to hear much of what was going on behind it, but if she concentrated, she was sure she could perceive the sound of men's voices, punctuated occasionally with a bitten-off cry of pain.

"I think this might be it." Jackie snapped the pendant back into her palm and pocketed it.

"How do you know for sure?" Becca asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It would stand to reason they would build their interrogation rooms near the prison facilities. It would be pretty impractical otherwise," Jackie explained. "But again, who said logic ruled this place."

"What do we do then?" Becca whispered back. "Do we just break in and hope for the best?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," Jackie shook her head. "They probably have it bolted shut from the inside, and even if they didn't, judging by the size of the room, they'd have more than enough time to kill Milo before we could get to him. We need a way to see what's going on inside. Follow me." She began to backtrack along the hall to the nearest door along the same wall. She pressed her ear to the portal before taking out the guard's keys and fiddling around with the lock. The fourth one turned the mechanism. From that point, Becca took over, pushing the door open a little and peeking inside. The room was empty and shrouded in a thick layer of shadows. Both teenage girls ducked into the room the moment they heard heavy footsteps beating off the marble floors, closing the door quietly behind them. Without the light from the hallway, they were plunged into complete blackness.

"Can you find a light? I can't see a thing in here," Becca said. She swore loudly when she stubbed her toe on something.

"Hang on a minute. I'm pretty sure I saw a lantern over in this direction. Let me see if I can find my matches. Damn it. I think I left them on the kitchen table. I'll have to try something else. _Pyre-mi_." There was a flare of light and a small halo of luminescence began to radiate from the corner of the room, growing in strength as Jackie fiddled with the wick of the oil lamp. "That's a little better. Now to see where we are."

"I wish I couldn't now," Becca gulped, pressing up against the nearest wall. They were standing in the centre of a disused torture chamber. Light poured over the hulking forms of fearsome-looking equipment stacked all about the room, the uses of which neither of the girls had enough imagination to fathom. The floors were gilded with dark stains, flecks of metal, and ashes. Jackie used her lantern to catch a torch aflame and pulled it from its wall-sconce to hand to Becca. Together, they conducted their cautious search of the classroom-sized chamber. There were three corpses still displaying the macabre uses of a few of the collection of apparatuses, and a sizable pile of ashes was swept into one corner.

Drawn by a morbid, undeniable curiosity, Becca leaned in closer to study one. "Jackie, I think these might be vampires in here. See, this one's got the tri-claws and everything." She bent forward to study the face, trying to discern the telling signs of Nosgothic vampirism hidden beneath darkened lips and milky eyelids.

"Becca," Jackie admonished her severely, "Are you some kind of brainless twit? Get the hell away from there! You don't even know if it's dead yet!"

"It looks pretty dead to me." She couldn't hear a heartbeat, and it hadn't moved at all since she'd first seen it, not even to take a breath.

"Yeah," Jackie responded, "But if I remember correctly, their bodies burn up into ash when they die. He still looks reasonably intact to me."

"That's true," Becca agreed, and as she went to pull away, the corpse came alive, hissing furiously in her face. She yelped in surprise and jumped backwards, her feet almost coming out from under her. The male vampire continued to display its fury, snapping its sharp white teeth and its talons clenched futilely at the air. The rack it was pinned to with iron spikes and lengths of rope groaned under the force of its mad rage, though the ancient machine did not give way. Blood leached in rivulets to the floor when it tore at its wounds in its efforts to break free and attack the armoured figure.

Becca stared at it a moment before bursting out into frantic nervous laughter. "Sweet Jesus! You scared me, dude! I'd cool it if I were you though. You're just wasting energy on me. I've got nothing to do with your being here," she informed him, turning to join her friend at the other side of the room. Jackie was too focused now to pay attention to anything but the wall standing between her and her brother.

The yellow eyes of the vampire narrowed before widening in understanding. It ceased thrashing and sheathed its fangs as it eyed the two girls in a considering manner. Though Becca was wearing the armour of a Saraphan knight, it knew that no woman had ever been allowed to enter the ranks of the holy priesthood in that capacity. It didn't even recognize the clothes the other girl was wearing.

"Who are you and what do you seek in this place?" it called out after them. Its voice was hoarse and dry from hunger, though there was no mistaking the haughty commanding tone it spoke with.

"Ignore it," Jackie instructed without preamble. She was digging around in the pockets of her jacket. "We're on a tight enough schedule as it is. There's no time to waste chatting up the natives." She spared the vampire the briefest glance. "No offence intended." A piece of chalk was removed from her pocket and she began to scrawl on the wall. First she sketched a long rectangle, and then a series of repeating symbols around its perimeter.

"What are you doing?" Becca asked.

"Making a window." Second and third rows of symbols were added to the corners of the rough rectangle. "I'm just trying to make sure it goes undetected."

"How does it work?"

"Watch." Jackie stood up and dusted her hands off, dropping the tiny nub of chalk back into her coat. "_Commence_!" she commanded the markings. The symbols flared to life, the white outline glowing bright blue before turning transparent and expanding to fill in its centre. As the radiance faded, the square became more and more transparent, revealing the scene that was taking place behind the wall, like the smooth screen of a television.

Becca whistled, suitably impressed. But her delight rapidly faded to match Jackie's expression of absolute horror. It looked like a video clip straight from the game. Milo was strapped to a device much like the one the vampire was pinned to, a short wooden cross, minus the iron spikes. Nearby, a basin full of blazing coals smoked, several metal instruments sitting along its perimeter in order to reheat. The room was smaller than this one, and besides Milo, five other men were standing inside it, and none of them were prisoners. Of the five men in the room, three had black hair that at least touched their shoulders, one had a shaven pate, and the last had short red hair. A chair had been placed in front of the weary boy, and one of the men in familiar elaborate armour sat there, talking to him softly. Milo was not in good condition. His head hung low on his chest, and blood streaked the scraps that remained of his clothing. Several fingers were bent out of joint, and his lip was split and swollen, in addition to the pre-existing burns on his right hand. He appeared to be in fine enough spirits given the situation though, trying to glower at his captors while blinking away blood from a cut over his eye at the same time.

The surface of the magical window rippled and the spell was completed, sound from the room beyond filtering passed.

"Now, boy, I'll ask you one last time," the man with the red cape growled softly at the bound youth. "Whom do you serve, and what is your purpose here in our realm?"

"And I'll tell _you_ one last time," Milo snapped, not intimidated by the man's tone of finality. "My name is Milo Hemet. I'm a sixteen-year old attending a public high school in the city of Toronto, in the province of Ontario, in the free and democratic nation of Canada. I'm practising to become a certified Craft-user among the North American chapter of the Greenwood Coven, and maybe I'll get a job in veterinary medicine once I'm done school if my marks are high enough. I like pizza on Friday nights, volunteering at the animal shelter, and taking long walks in the park after school. My parents' names are Shirley and Martin Hemet; my sister is Jacqueline, AKA Jackie, and she is two years older than me. We are not in the current employ of anybody, my parent's own their own small business, and people don't exactly do the whole 'service' thing where I come from. As for our purpose here, there isn't one. I strong-armed my sister into helping me practice my teleportation techniques, and I messed up rather badly. It was entirely accidental, and to be perfectly frank sir, I've never even heard of Nosgoth before this little 'detour'. If I had any idea where I was I'd have headed for the nearest border by now and reported your dumb-ass primeval government for human rights violations! You lot do realize that you are currently participating in the detention and assault of a minor, right?"

The orange-haired man seated directly in front of Milo wore a teal cloak, and he leaned back in the chair, sighing in frustration.

"Brother Raziel," he said to the one in red. "This is pointless. He is not changing his story, and he appears to be genuine in his ignorance. There is a distinct possibility that he is relating the truth as he knows it."

"Are you going soft, Zephon?" the one known as Brother Raziel sneered.

"No," the silver cloaked man answered with a cold imperious glare to his fellow inquisitor, "I am merely imparting my professional opinion. It is my personal experience that children do not possess the mental discipline and knowledge required to resist torture and interrogation, and no decent parent would attempt to harden their children against such things."

"His personal _what_! He's tortured kids before?" Becca gasped in revulsion.

The other Saraphan did not seem alarmed by this revelation.

"Does this mean you're going to let me go now?" Milo inquired cautiously. "Cause I'd kind of prefer if you got around to getting me off this thing sooner rather than later. It's kind of painful."

"No my boy," the red-head leaned forward to give Milo a comforting pat on the shoulder. "I'm afraid this conversation has only just begun. There are still a few other matters I wish to discuss."

"That..." Milo watched wide-eyed as the inquisitor accepted a burning brand from one of the onlookers. He gulped. "That sucks."

"Now," Zephon paused to examine the glowing tip of the metal rod, "We are going to discuss what happened in the chapel today. Would you like to start?"

Milo tugged at his chains as he eyed the red-hot piece of metal nervously. "To be honest sir," he piped up. "That's a pretty broad subject. Maybe we should narrow the topic list down. To begin with do you want to discuss my brand of magic, why it's so much better than yours, why my magic over-reacted, or why you lot couldn't seem to sense it at all?"

Jackie gasped, mouth dropping open in disbelief. _What_ had her brother just said?

The inquisitor frowned, lips drawing into a tight line. His hand darted forward, giving the teenager little chance to brace himself. The circle of metal pressed into his collar bone, and the boy screamed as his flesh burned.

Behind the wall, looking through her magical window, Jackie turned and retched. Becca froze a moment, before rushing to her friend's aide. Her hands were shoved away. Jackie pulled herself upright before pushing away from the window and kicking over a piece of torture equipment to send it flying across the room. The piece of chalk was back in her hand as she began to scrawl a circle in the cleared space.

"Jackie?" Becca inquired cautiously, trying to shake the nausea she too was experiencing. "What are you doing?"

Jackie looked up and growled. Becca took a cautious step back as her friend's irises began to glow with power. "I'm getting my brother the fuck out of there."

Becca nodded and fell silent; watching as the older girl furiously scratched a pattern out on the blood-soaked floor. '_Okay,_' she thought as she fought to ignore the screams coming from the other room. '_This is officially not fun anymore._'


End file.
